He’d been rude and arrogant, had overwhelmed her with his brute strength…his absolute maleness. And then he’d been gone.
He’d almost taken advantage of her—she’d almost let him—and then he’d disappeared. Like a shadow in the night…as if he’d never been there at all. She’d known what he’d done. He’d reveled in pushing her buttons, in making her weak. But she’d resisted, just barely. If she hadn’t, he would have taken full advantage, even knowing that she belonged to David. She wondered if David had ever suspected that the friend he’d sent to protect her from a threat the nature of which she hadn’t been authorized clearance for had almost succeeded in seducing her with his devastating charm. Some friend.
But then that was Special Agent Joe Hennessey. He might be a superspy of legendary proportions, but she knew him for what he was: ruthless and with an allegiance only to himself. The guy waiting with Dawson in the corridor reminded her of Hennessey.
“Elizabeth, thank you for coming.”
Elizabeth shoved the distracting thoughts away as Director George Calder rounded the end of the long conference table and made his way to her. A second gentleman she didn’t recognize rose from his chair but didn’t move toward her.
Present and future, forget the past, she reminded her too forgetful self. Like David, Joe Hennessey was a part of her past that was gone forever. Face forward. Focus on the here and now…on the future. Director Calder took her hand in his and shook it firmly.
“I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your vacation schedule,” he offered, his expression displaying sincere regret.
George Calder was a tall, broad-shouldered man, not unlike the two agents waiting outside the door. Nearly sixty, his hair had long ago silvered and lines drawn by the execution of enormous power marred his distinguished face. He’d presented himself as nothing less than gracious and sensitive each time he’d requested Elizabeth’s presence. But there was more this time. Something else simmered behind those intelligent hazel eyes. The sixth sense that usually centered on her patients was humming now, urging her to act.
“Technically,” Elizabeth said succinctly, ignoring her foolish urge for fight or flight, “my vacation doesn’t start until tomorrow so you’re still safe for now.”
George laughed, but the sound was forced. “Let me introduce you to our director of operations.” He turned to the other man in the room. This one was slightly shorter and thinner, but looked every bit as formidable as Director Calder.
“Kurt Allen, meet our talented Dr. Elizabeth Cameron.”
His fashionable gray pinstripe suit setting him apart from the requisite navy or black, Allen rushed to shake her hand, his smile wide and seeming genuine. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Dr. Cameron. Your work is amazing. I can’t tell you how many of my best men you’ve spared.”
Elizabeth realized then that Director Allen was in charge of the field agents who most often needed her services.
“I’m glad I can help, Director Allen,” she told him in all sincerity. It felt odd now that she’d never met him before. Need-to-know, she reminded herself.
There was an awkward moment of tense silence before Calder said, “Elizabeth, please have a seat and we’ll talk.”
The director ushered her to the chair next to the one he’d vacated when she’d entered the room. Allen seated himself directly across the table from her.
The air suddenly thickened with the uneasy feel of a setup. This was not going to be the typical briefing. There was no folder marked classified that held the case facts of the agent who needed a new face. There was nothing but the high sheen of the mahogany conference table and the steady stares of the two men who obviously did not look forward to the discussion to come.
To get her mind off the intensity radiating around her, Elizabeth took a moment to survey the room. Richly paneled walls similar to that of the director’s office several floors overhead gave the room a feeling of warmth. Royal blue commercial-grade carpet covered the floor. The array of flags surrounding the CIA emblem on the rear wall and the numerous plaques that lined the other three lent an air of importance to the environment. This was a place where discussions of national significance took place. She should feel honored to be here. Whatever she could do for the CIA was the least she could do for her country, she reminded herself.
Elizabeth clasped her hands atop the conference table, squared her shoulders and produced a smile for Director Calder. “Why did you need to see me, Director?” Someone had to break the ice. Neither of the gentlemen appeared prepared to dive in. Another oddity. What could either of these men, who possessed the power to start wars, fear from her?
Calder glanced at Allen then manufactured a smile of his own. “Elizabeth, I think you understand how important the Operations Directorate is here at the CIA.”
She nodded. Though she actually knew little about the Operations Directorate, she did comprehend that the field operatives who risked their lives in positions deep undercover and generally in foreign countries came from that division.
“The men and women who make up the ranks of our field operatives are the very tip of the spear this agency represents,” he went on, verifying her assumption. “They are the forerunners. The ones who provide us with the data that averts disaster. They risk more than anyone else.”
Again she nodded her understanding. The knot in her stomach twisted as she considered why he felt the need to tediously prepare her for whatever it was he really wanted to say. Every instinct warned that things were not as they should be.
“During the past two and a half years we’ve counted on you more than a dozen times to provide a means of escape for our operatives. Your skill at creating new faces has allowed these men and women to avoid the enemy’s vengeance while maintaining their careers. Without your help, a number of those operatives would certainly have lost their lives.”
“There are other surgeons in your field,” Allen interjected with a show of his palms for emphasis. “But not one in this country is as skilled as you.”
Elizabeth blushed. She hated that she did that but there was no stopping it. She’d never taken compliments well. Though she worked hard and recognized that she deserved some amount of praise, it was simply a physical reaction over which she had no control. Her professional life was the one place where she suffered no doubts in regards to her competence. If only she could harness some of that confidence for her personal life.
“I appreciate your saying so, Director Allen,” she offered, “but I can’t take full credit. My ability with the scalpel is a gift from God.” She meant those words with all that made her who she was. A God complex was something she’d never had to wrestle with as so many of her colleagues did. She made it a point to remind her residents of that all important fact as well. Confidence was a good thing, arrogance was not.
Director Calder braced his hands on the table in front of him and drew her attention back to him, “That’s part of the attitude that we hope will allow you to see the need for what we’re about to ask of you, Elizabeth.”
She didn’t doubt her ability to handle whatever he asked of her. In that vein, she dismissed the uneasiness and lifted her chin in defiance of her own lingering uncertainty. There was only one way to cut to the chase here—be direct. “What is it you need, Director Calder. I’ve never turned you down before. Is there some reason you feel this time will be different?”
Two
